


Rest from the Hunt

by OneofWebs



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Aggression, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Clothed Sex, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub, Enthusiastic Consent, Living Together, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Pet Names, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23083342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Home from a bit of work, Geralt needs to find a way to relax the nerves and the muscles. There's always that pent upsomethingleft over from the rush of killing a monster, and he needs to get rid of it. Thankfully, Jaskier is always willing to do what Geralt needs of him. When Geralt comes back, Jaskier is ready to give him that outlet he needs.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 670





	Rest from the Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Gave myself the time to write a quick personal project, as a treat. It's been while since I've written something for ME, and I did just finish watching the Witcher. figured i could crap something out this morning before getting back to work. Salutes.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Comments and kudos are appreciated <3

The hunt was done, and so was Geralt. He didn’t even bother for a smooth entrance and instead opted for bursting through the door of his own home. He should have been more careful, but he didn’t care, at the moment. He was smeared over with mud and what must have been blood from the stench, and underneath it all was just _frustration_. He went to all that trouble to slay the damned beast, and all the towns people had to offer him was a brand-new attitude of _get out of town_. This was why he got paid up front. _This_ was why he’d agreed to have a place to settle down.

“Jaskier!” he shouted. Grumbled. Growled. It really didn’t matter. Jaskier would come.

It took him only a minute to calm gallivanting down the stairs. That’s just how he was. Always happy. Always with a pep in his step. At any other point, Geralt would have been overcome with some fondness for it, but all he did was grab Jaskier by the arm and pull him close.

“Geralt—”

Geralt had the decency to wipe his mouth off with the back of his hand before he slammed their lips together. Jaskier’s struggle ended immediately, melting into that touch, instead. Geralt had a hard grip on both of his arms, keeping Jaskier precisely where he wanted him. They were pressed so close together that Jaskier wasn’t going to escape as pristine as he’d been upon his capture. Their chests together. The muck of Geralt’s recent hunt had his armor stained, and now, it was a mess over Jaskier’s fine, beautiful silks.

Jaskier could complain about it later. He moaned into Geralt’s kiss, tilting his head to the side and pressing closer—he let Geralt move him, slam him into the nearest wall and renew the kiss with a sudden fire. Geralt nipped at his bottom lip, and Jaskier gasped in return. He pressed his head back into the wall as Geralt just pressed closer, his leg between Jaskier’s thighs, now. Jaskier couldn’t help himself—he knew it was _messy_ , but he ground down into Geralt’s armor anyway. The sudden rush of pleasure took him, and he gasped.

With his lips parted, Geralt pressed his tongue along, and Jaskier moaned. He shivered, trying to shift so that _he_ could grab Geralt back. As it were, Jaskier was stuck against the wall almost entirely restrained by Geralt’s strength, alone. If that wasn’t enough to have his cock stirring in his pants, then nothing would be. Jaskier could already feel the weakness in his knees, his eyes dipped closed just to be able to _feel_. Geralt’s tongue ran along the line of his teeth, the ridges of his mouth—had Jaskier shivering, gripping his hands into fists at his side like that might help him control himself.

It didn’t. Jaskier rutted down into Geralt’s thigh, seeking out that friction and fire. Geralt growled right against his lips, somehow pressing him _harder_ into the wall behind him. It was just a kiss. It was _just_ a kiss, but Jaskier was reacting so beautiful. It was impossible to tell how Geralt felt, covered in armor as he was, but his ferocity always made something of it obvious. Geralt _wanted_ this. Jaskier had an absolute weakness for that—being wanted. Geralt’s tight grip on him, the force of his kiss, all of it screamed how much Geralt wanted him. _Needed_ him.

“Have you washed?” Geralt asked hurriedly. He pulled away from their kiss only to press his hand into the side of Jaskier’s face, caressing the curve of his cheekbone.

Jaskier nodded. “Always,” he said, breathless. “Always, when you’re on your return.”

Geralt let out a breathless, judgmental little laugh. “Needy.”

Jaskier might have been offended if he’d had the time, but Geralt dove over him to kiss him, _hard_. Jaskier could only whimper into their kiss, rolling his hips forward. It wasn’t the nicest feeling, to be rewarded with the press of armor through thin trousers, but Jaskier trembled, regardless. He wasn’t averse to the rougher side of things, and clearly, Geralt didn’t have an issue with _being_ rough. He bit along Jaskier’s lips, forcing them open with his tongue, again. Again. Jaskier moaned.

He finally had a hand, though, with Geralt’s hand on his face. His other was still nicely restrained against the wall, Geralt’s fingers digging into his bicep, but the one would do. It wasn’t ideal, trying to work at the laces of Geralt’s armor with one hand, but it was enough to prove that he _wanted_ this. He needed Geralt to get a move on; Geralt rewarded his hasty lack of patience by letting go of his other arm. Geralt pressed his hand over the bulge of Jaskier’s cock, stilling everything and making Jaskier moan.

Jaskier leaned his head back into the wall. Already, he was panting and beginning to sweat. He wasn’t sure where to focus as he looked at Geralt—those eyes were piercing, enough to keep Jaskier against the wall, even where Geralt wasn’t holding him still, anymore.

“Sh-shouldn’t you—?” Jaskier tried, but he couldn’t seem to find the words in his throat.

“Stay,” Geralt ordered, straight from the back of his throat in a rumble that sent a rush of pleasure down through Jaskier’s spine.

Jaskier gave a hasty nod, biting down on his lip to keep himself quiet, too. He didn’t dare even move. Geralt had pulled away, and that left Jaskier with a sudden burst of need that he didn’t dare fulfill. As much as he wanted to palm himself through his trousers, he knew it would be better worth his time to do exactly as Geralt had asked of him. To _stay_. Perfectly still. Perfectly quiet. Jaskier knew what it meant. He couldn’t even be bothered to care about the absolute mess Geralt had left on his clothes, because he had the front row seat to watching Geralt remove his own.

The amount of armor Geralt wore was a wonderful thing, really, Jaskier decided. The more of it that Geralt just dropped to the floor, the more _clean_ skin was revealed. Jaskier squirmed just at the sight—Geralt was perfectly muscular. Not too lean, not too bulky. Enough that there was something to grab, when things got intense. When Jaskier was thrown straight into the throngs of pleasure, oh—how he let out just the most pathetic little whimper when Geralt started on his trousers. Somewhere in the middle of Jaskier being more concerned with the need in his trousers, Geralt had already done away with his boots.

“Oh, Geralt, please—” Jaskier babbled. He shouldn’t have spoken, and surely expected _something_ to be done in response. That was how they liked to play. But nothing happened.

“On your knees,” Geralt ordered. “ _Now_.”

Jaskier dropped down, immediately. It hurt his knees, the hardwood floor, but he didn’t _care_. Geralt had worked his trousers down just enough that his cock was revealed, straining hard between his thighs. He wasn’t quite all the way there, but Jaskier was going to fix that. He was _eager_ to fix it, but he didn’t dare move forward. He just sort of squirmed where he knelt, digging his fingers into his trousers, his thighs, trying to keep himself restrained.

Geralt stroked himself, long and slow. He didn’t take his eyes off of Jaskier, once. It was almost funny, how Jaskier wasn’t looking at _him_ , but the curve of his cock, instead. He was always so eager to help, so _needy_. Geralt needed that, though. He needed that release. For just a moment. Even if he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t have to—Jaskier just knew. There was a comfort in that, and Geralt briefly wondered how he ever thought Jaskier wasn’t what he needed.

Geralt curled a hand into Jaskier’s hair, bringing him closer. He was having a hard time restraining himself, too. There was a twitch in his thighs as he brought Jaskier closer; he wanted to wrench open Jaskier’s jaw and force himself down that throat, but he also wanted to be patient. Tried to breathe. Tried to control himself. He let Jaskier have a moment to mouth over his pelvis—let himself have a moment to close his eyes and _feel_. Jaskier knew what he needed, knew how to _take care_ of things, really.

Jaskier pressed little butterfly kisses over Geralt’s hips, down the slope of his pelvis. His hands were still wrenched in his trousers, his _messy_ trousers—just as they should be. He used his mouth. He pressed his lips over all of the taut skin, pressing his nose into it. Inhaling Geralt’s scent, that _musk_ of a post-hunt frustration. Jaskier was going to work that right out of him. Offer himself up as that outlet. Not just because Geralt needed one, but because Jaskier _wanted_ it.

When Geralt had finally had enough of Jaskier’s little peppered kisses and kitten licks, he grabbed Jaskier by the hair and pulled him back. Geralt took a hold of his own cock, and Jaskier’s mouth opened on instinct. Geralt stroked himself over, once, twice, before he yanked Jaskier forward. He didn’t let it go slow—he couldn’t _take_ slow. He thrust his hips forward, sinking all the way down to the back of Jaskier’s throat, Jaskier pressed right up against his pelvis and squirming, groaning. It was almost too much. _Almost_. If had been, Jaskier knew how to stop it.

He kept his hands to himself, letting his eyes roll back and his lids close. He only had that moment before Geralt took a tighter hold of him, tugging on his hair and holding his jaw. Jaskier just went slack, letting Geralt fuck straight down his throat with the sort of force only a Witcher could muster. Jaskier nearly choked each time Geralt sunk between his lips, fast and straight to the hilt, but Geralt just kept going. There was pleasure just underneath it, Jaskier’s strained little moans. The flutter of his eyelids. Jaskier was positively losing himself in this.

The feeling of Geralt’s cock hardening in his mouth was something that he _lived_ for, Jaskier. He curled his lips around his teeth and sucked where he could, pressing out his tongue to the underside of Geralt’s cock. It made his hips stutter, his face wrench up in a sudden burst of pleasure. Geralt groaned, even, and what a treat. Jaskier shivered where he knelt, trying not to touch himself. It was better when he didn’t, _always_. Listening to Geralt like that, letting himself be _used_ —made it hard. It was difficult, but Jaskier kept himself perfectly still, perfectly restrained.

He looked up at Geralt, never once letting his eye-contact waver. Geralt only seemed more moved, by it, his hips moving faster. Slapping against Jaskier’s lips, his chin. Forcing himself down as deep as he could go with every thrust. Jaskier groaned, moaned around him, and the vibrations struck straight though Geralt’s cock and made him stutter. He only held onto Jaskier tighter, the grip in his hair painful and the one on his jaw near bruising. Jaskier only moaned, again, his own hips bucking in a search of friction that he wouldn’t allow himself to have.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Geralt groaned. “Fuck look at you, I—” he broke off in a groan. He was suddenly crowding Jaskier back against the wall so he could lean on it, brace himself with his arm against the wood.

Geralt’s thrusts only got harder, after that, somehow deeper. His cock was straining, leaking into Jaskier’s throat. Jaskier swallowed around Geralt’s cock, and that just seemed to do him in. Geralt held Jaskier right against the base of his cock for long enough that Jaskier nearly _did_ choke, but that feeling of constriction around him had Geralt moaning, leaning his forehead over his arm as his hips bucked. Stuttered. He came down Jaskier’s throat a moment later, and he didn’t let up, his grip on Jaskier’s hair, until Jaskier had swallowed every hot shoot of spend.

Geralt’s trembled with his orgasm, groaning—his hips stuttering until he was finished. Only then did he let Jaskier go, but that didn’t spell the end of anything. The moment Geralt had pulled his cock back and Jaskier slumped, he reached down to grab Jaskier under his arms and pull him right back up to his feet. He didn’t waste a second before he was turning Jaskier around, slamming him face first into the wall. Jaskier barely had time to gasp before Geralt was pushing his trousers down.

“Geralt—”

“Shut up,” Geralt growled. He pressed against Jaskier, his cock pressed right up into the cleft of Jaskier’s arse so he could _feel_ how Geralt was still hard, dripping in his own come and Jaskier’s saliva. “When I want the songbird to sing, I’ll ask,” he cooed.

Jaskier nodded quickly, keeping his lips pressed tight together.

“I know you carry that around with you—give me the oil,” Geralt commanded.

Jaskier was helpless to comply. It took a bit of digging, but he _did_ produce a little bottle for Geralt. Geralt took it and, without so much as a moment of hesitation, poured some of it over his fingers. He pressed the chill of the bottle into Jaskier’s neck with one hand, just for some place to hold the damn thing, then worked his fingers down between Jaskier’s cheeks. His stupid, perky little arse. He was met with a wetness, when he pressed his fingers against Jaskier’s hole, and that had Geralt grinning mad.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Can’t wait for me to get home, can you?”

Jaskier moaned, shaking his head. _Home_ —this was home. This was _their_ home, and Geralt was pressing a finger inside of him—Jaskier could barely form a coherent thought, his lips parting open with his pleasure. He rutted against the wall, and though it wasn’t entirely pleasant to rub his cockhead straight into stained wood, it was enough fiction to have his entire body taken with a tremble. He was so strung up he might just come untouched and wouldn’t _that_ be something Geralt could hold over his head. He hadn’t done it yet, not quite, but there was a first time for everything.

Geralt worked him with an expertise that only came from _practice_. He fucked Jaskier, firm and quick, on that one finger until Jaskier was ready for more. It was a fast and easy thing, really, because apparently Jaskier was so in love with the idea of Geralt coming home just to find a warm place to sink his cock that he’d taken it upon himself to play a bit in the bath. Wonderful, really. It was a sight Geralt had thought about far too often but never taken the moment to watch. He’d have to change that.

Eventually.

For now, he worked Jaskier open on a second finger, spreading them out to stretch that hole wide enough to accommodate him. They didn’t always work so diligently at the preparation. Jaskier liked the burn when Geralt took him too quickly, but Geralt had other plans. Plans that required a solid foundation to build from, and that meant taking Jaskier apart, piece by piece, on his fingers along.

When Geralt crooked his fingers just right, Jaskier let out a sudden cry of pleasure. His hips worked back onto Geralt’s finger, but Geralt just pressed closer—his legs against Jaskier’s to try and keep him still, while he worked. He still had his hand against Jaskier’s neck, keeping him flat against the wall. He should have been a bit nicer and let him keep something soft and _silken_ between his cock and the wall, but Jaskier didn’t even seem to mind. His hips bucked all the same as some needy, tavern whore who couldn’t keep her legs closed.

Three fingers had Jaskier moaning, crying out and rolling his head back, to the side. The long, column of his neck was frightfully untouched, and Geralt leaned forward to fix that. He latched onto Jaskier’s neck, where the stupid collar of his shirt wasn’t covering, and sucked. He nipped his teeth into the fine skin, Jaskier trembling in some response. It was like Jaskier didn’t know what to do—there was too much stimulation. Too much that he _wanted_. Geralt was working him up and not letting him come back down.

It seemed every press of his fingers worked over Jaskier’s prostate, rubbing him, filling him with such a white pleasure that he couldn’t ignore. His vision was splotchy with the force at which his eyes shut on each sudden rush of pleasure. If it wasn’t for Geralt’s hold on him, Jaskier would have fallen to the ground, already. His knees were wobbly, his thighs strained by the force it took to keep him upright. And _still_ , for that exhaustion running through his bones, Jaskier was an active participant, working his hips back against Geralt’s fingers and moaning as the pleasure took him.

Geralt left him stretched wide and peppered in growing bruises, all around his neck. He’d severely miscalculated how badly he wanted to see those marks all over Jaskier. He held the vial of oil between his teeth before reaching up to take hold of Jaskier’s collar, with both hands, and _ripping_ down right through his shirt. Jaskier yelped, his back suddenly open and exposed, but he didn’t dare complain. Not when, after taking the vial back in his hand, Geralt pressed his lips over the fine expanse of back he had before him.

He kissed over Jaskier’s shoulder blades, down the length of his spine and back up again. He kept a tight hold on Jaskier’s hip to keep him still, keep him where he wanted, and just kissed over his skin. He tugged it between his teeth, sucking up bruises wherever he could manage. He could _see_ Jaskier’s pleasure in the way his shoulders hunched, and his blades were pressed together. Almost like he couldn’t handle the wait, couldn’t handle the burning pleasure that each snap of Geralt’s teeth into his skin won him. But he did handle it, and he handled it beautifully, with breathy little gasps and sobbing moans.

It was always the problem of wanting too much and not having enough time to do it. Geralt needed a better handle on himself—this was pathetic, really. The long list of things he wanted to do to Jaskier was only growing longer, and he wasn’t doing a damn thing to stop it. He was letting himself be taken by it, completely, by all of the things he wanted. Not enough time to do it all, at once, but thankfully his own rising need for pleasure was good at making decisions for him.

Geralt dripped the rest of the oil over his hand before letting the vial just clatter to the floor. Strong thing—it didn’t shatter. Geralt spread that oil down the length of his cock and smeared what remained down the cleft of Jaskier’s arse. He shivered so beautifully, knowing full well what was coming. Any other time, Geralt might have taken a moment to tease, to make Jaskier _beg_ for what he wanted. Just another thing he wanted on a list of too many things he wanted, not enough time to do it all at once.

Instead, Geralt pulled Jaskier open, digging his thumbs into the meat of Jaskier’s arse to really get a look at him. Dripping in oil. Slick. Open. Such a wanton little thing with his legs spread out and a gasp in his breath. He was looking back at Geralt, over his shoulder, with eyes half-lidded and jaw dropped open.

“I want to hear you,” Geralt growled, leaning in close enough that his lips brushed the shell of Jaskier’s ear. “I want to hear every nasty thing you have to say. Every cry of my name as I take you. Let me hear you sing, Jaskier.”

Jaskier could have come from that, alone, but there were more important things at hand. Geralt’s cock against his hole, for one, as Geralt guided himself close. Pressed inside. The stretch was unbelievable, slow and accompanied by that hot burn of need and pleasure. Geralt didn’t stop until his hips were pressed flush against Jaskier’s arse. Jaskier didn’t even have words, just breathless gasps as he scrambled for purchase in the wall. He would find none, and Geralt wouldn’t help him.

Instead, Geralt took a tight grip on his hips and pulled back, only to slam into him again. That ripped a loud cry right from Jaskier’s throat, but he only pushed back. Rolled his hips to meet Geralt’s cock as they set a pace—hard, fast. Their skin slapped together, and each time, Geralt could marvel at the way Jaskier’s arse jiggled and bounced. He gripped his fingertips into Jaskier’s hips harder, pulling him back to meet every rough thrust of his hips.

“G-Geralt—!” Jaskier gasped. Cried out. Dragged his nails into the wood to try and ground himself, but he couldn’t escape that pleasure. Not that he wanted to. It was burning low in his hips with every thrust, and he couldn’t manage to think about anything beyond. “F-fuck, oh, fuck, Geralt, please, please—”

Geralt responded with a bruising grip, fucking into Jaskier hard enough and _fast_ enough that the sound of their skin slapping filled the room. The angle was just right that every drag of Geralt’s cock worked right over Jaskier’s prostate, and the pleasure was _immense_. Jaskier was babbling a whole load of nonsense— _faster, please, Geralt, oh—fuck me, fuck me—_ and Geralt kept going. He met every single one of Jaskier’s breathless demands with a hard roll of his hips, fucking into him _just_ how he wanted.

Geralt wanted it too, maybe just as bad. The tight heat around his cock was more than enough to take his mind off of everything. Put his thoughts solely on Jaskier, where they needed to be. He worked with persistence, diligence. Jaskier clenched down around him, _begging_ for more. Whatever more could possibly be at this point—maybe Geralt could reach around and grab his cock, jerk him straight to orgasm, but this— _this_ was fun. This was Jaskier crying out with every abusive thrust straight to his prostate, dragging his pleasure right out of him to the point where he could hardly stand it.

By this point, Jaskier was near bent over, trying desperately to keep himself on his feet, gripping into the wall. Geralt’s bruising grip on his hips was helping, and _moving—_ oh, Jaskier gasped out when Geralt took hold of his chest, pulling him back to lean flush against Geralt. Geralt’s chest to his back—Jaskier’s hips bucked on their own, a sudden rush of pleasure from the change of angle. Geralt’s hands wormed under where his shirt was still hanging over him, not quite ripped enough to fall away. He palmed over Jaskier’s chest, tweaking over his nipples and massaging his skin.

“Come on,” Geralt encouraged, his voice deep and ringing out in Jaskier’s ear. It was like Jaskier could feel the rumble of it through his chest. “You can do it. I know you want to— _fuck_ ,” Geralt gasped as Jaskier clenched over him. They were moving much slower, but they were moving _together._ Jaskier desperately trying to take as much of Geralt as he could inside of him. “Come on, pretty boy, let’s see you come on my cock.”

“ _Fuck_ , Geralt—!” Jaskier cried out.

Geralt slammed him forward into the wall, holding him there and fucking into him with all of the strength that he had. Jaskier was overcome with pleasure, his jaw open and moans wrenched right from his throat through every rough drag of Geralt’s cock inside of him. His eyes were tightly closed, and the force of Geralt’s thrusts fucked him into the wall. The friction against his cock was near painful, but Jaskier was lost to it. He didn’t even realize, everything else lost to the pleasure that rushed through every inch of his body.

His orgasm came a moment later, pouring over him in a wave of white and _burning_ right down in his pelvis. He grabbed into the wall, Geralt’s hands shooting up to cover his and keep him from truly hurting himself against the wood. Geralt squeezed Jaskier’s hands, rolling his hips, working him through his orgasm. He was overtaken with his own, a jolt of pleasure and nothing really more. He groaned against Jaskier, hooking his chin over Jaskier’s shoulder to hold them together.

Jaskier felt a rush of shame when he was finished, his face going red. He’d left a mess on the wall, and he was certain that Geralt was going to mock him for that. His first untouched orgasm. But that never came. Instead, Geralt breathed something almost fond into his ear while running his hands down Jaskier’s chest. They parted just long enough for Geralt to pull the sad remains of his shirt from them, but then Geralt pressed back against him, holding him tightly around his waist. Jaskier shivered, squirmed—Geralt was still inside of him.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Geralt grumbled into his neck. He held Jaskier tighter, moving his arms up to hold him around his chest instead. “Jaskier.”

Jaskier couldn’t help an embarrassed little grin to stretch over his lips. “I—well,” he didn’t have anything to say. Nothing cheeky, nothing funny. He just wanted to revel in Geralt around him, inside of him, pressing little kisses into his neck. It was _nice,_ and he’d clearly calmed down.

After they’d each had their moment to collect themselves, Geralt pulled out of Jaskier and steadied him before he collapsed to the floor. Geralt hooked his arm under Jaskier’s knees and hoisted him up—he’d take care of the grand mess they’d made later. That was less important. They both needed a bath and, afterward, Geralt just wanted to spend the rest of the night nestled under blankest with Jaskier tucked up under his chin. It was nothing short of what he deserved for being so willing to humor Geralt’s needs.

**Author's Note:**

> 𓆏 Froge Bounces 𓆏  
> [Check me out on Tumblr!](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)  
> [My Twitter!](https://twitter.com/tantumunawrites)  
> 


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